Immemorial
by Dolorose-Lalonde
Summary: Comparing the volatile, but well-intentioned relationships of the trolls to the failed ones of those who came before them. Several pairings?


_He was her pillar._

_She had been the scourge of the seas; a fiery, reckless thing that burnt everything that could burn._

_She had been sharp and pretty and full of allure, attracting the love and hate of many and indiscriminately discarding it all. A spider, not even bothering to eat the writhing bugs who had been caught in her web._

_She had attracted the royal, the beautiful and the brilliant; and had left them all dead. Indirect as they all were, their blood still trailed behind her toes. She had taken everyone who would ever call her 'lover' or 'rival' or 'friend' and **Thieved** away their **Breath**._

_She had written of these things in her crisp little ink-stained **Pages **as if they were triumphs to her._

_She had thought that she was strong._

And it wasn't until she had met this man; this strange, jovial rebel, that she learnt what true strength really was.

_This strange man, with blood of dirt and wings of **Light**, had helped her realize how weak she has always been._

_It was funny, for the troll who stole her heart to be the one to finally run it through._

I was just trying to make him strong.

For a long time, I wondered why she even bothered with him; this sad, simpering idiot who couldn't force a sentence out of his mouth without a twitch of his perpetually nervous tongue. I had spent so much time making myself strong; his weakness was repulsive to me. The pity-hatred-_something_ that had rooted somewhere in my bloodpusher like some kind of _parasite _was something I really couldn't make heads or tails of.

Well. You know when people can't understand something, they rationalize it? That's what I did. I'd turned the fudgeblood into a charity project of sorts. Challenged myself to take this stuttering, pathetic excuse for a boy and make him into something I could admire. Thus began a really arduous process involving things that I later realized hurt him without helping him at all.

Then again, hurting people might as well have been my official specialty.

I guess I really started getting frustrated with him when I died the first time. The girl whose death I had orchestrated returned the favor with an _admirable_ amount of gusto, and when I had laid there; frigid blue seeping into my eyes and soaking my chest, I had asked him, begged him to kill me. Show me the mercy I probably wouldn't have given here and run me through on my quest cocoon. I was impatient to become a god already, and admittedly…well, admittedly, it had hurt like hell.

I'd reassured him that he could do it, he could do it, just grow a bulge and _KILL ME KILL M8 **K8LL M8**_; and I couldn't help feeling a disappointed sense of betrayal when he had just sat there, sniffling and sobbing like a wimp as the ground became streaked with some disgusting mix of blue and brown. He hadn't even looked back, when I rose up as God Tier.

I think hatred had begun to sprout in me, then. All of my frustrations about his uncertainty; about my having to always, _aaaaaaaalways_ make the first move, had really begun to yank at my fangs and _pull_.

When he actually summoned the guts to stand up to me, I guess I should have felt relieved, even if he was _too little, too l8_, but instead I felt…angry. So fucking angry, and before I even fully realized what I was doing; I'd put a hole in his chest, the quick bull's-eye stab he should've given to me.

It was surprisingly easy, killing him. Just like it had been easy to feed countless trolls to my lusus; just like it had been easy to burn every bridge I'd ever built to the ground.

I remember smiling and waving at him, as he fell to the ground.

I have John to thank, for finally making me see a lot of things. Funny, that some squishy pink alien thousands of fucking miles away from me could help me realize just how much I've screwed up. I told him I'd change; and I wanted to, really…

But, you know. It was too little, too l8.

When we finally got face-to-face again, it's when we're both dead. Sitting in the hot and gritty sand of his planet, we stare at each other with equally baffled blank eyes.

I'm babbling out an apology; and he's beginning to argue with me. If anything, it's kind of a relief. It seems like he's starting to grow a backbone, at least. And maybe I'm starting to grow whatever weird empathy lobe that John had unwittingly shoved into my thinkpan.

Because it's all about forgiveness and all that sappy drivel, isn't it?

I can forgive Toreadork for his weakness, and maybe he can forgive me for mine.

((I love how I keep trying to write new things while having absolutely no idea what to do with the stuff I've already started. u_u))


End file.
